


Tactile

by hailtherandom



Series: Ficmas 2k14 [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Sam Wilson, Grinding, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Massage, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is Part of the Avengers, Steve Rogers Gets Injured a Lot, Touch Starved Steve Rogers, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailtherandom/pseuds/hailtherandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sam touched Steve and one time Steve returned the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tactile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [archwrites (Arch)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arch/gifts).



> Christmas present for [arch](http://archwrites.tumblr.com) who wanted touch-starved Steve!
> 
> There are some vague trigger notes in the bottom notes wrt tags and where they happen, in case you want to skip the violence, sex, or PTSD tags. None of it is terribly out of place in a Cap2 fic, but just in case!

1.

It is, in Sam’s opinion, amazing that they don’t get shot up more in their line of work.

Sam knows first aid. He learned in the air force. He learned at the VA. He learned as a teenager in his parents’ bathroom after getting seen by the wrong people. He knows how to apply pressure to wounds with one hand and thread a needle with the other. He knows how important it is to be ready to have to patch someone up in the dirt if the desert.

So he’s not entirely unprepared when Steve goes down.

They’re raiding a HYDRA base, under Hill’s radar. It’s supposed to be a small, deserted information base.

It’s not.

It’s small, sure, but it’s definitely not deserted. The HYDRA staff working there see them coming and they’re ready for them. Sam sees a bullet slam into a tree six feet to his left before he ever hears the gunshot. He ducks and Steve pushes him down, covering him with his own body. Sam grunts with the impact and reaches for the gun strapped to his leg with one of Natasha’s old thigh holsters. A couple of bullets clang off of Steve’s shield.

“Shit. Okay,” Steve whispers. “Are you okay?”

“You’re squishin’ me,” Sam groans.

Steve winces. “Sorry. Not much I can do about it.”

“It’s fine, just get us the hell out of here.”

“I can charge them.”

_Clang._

“Are you insane? We don’t even know how many of them there are!”

“Yeah, and if we just run, they’ll follow us,” Steve counters. “And end up hurting civilians.”

Sam sighs. “At least try shooting them first.”

“You got my back,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

“Wait, Steve, don’t you fucking–”

But Steve does. He rolls off of Sam, keeping the shield between them and the base at all times, and springs up. Sam scrambles behind a tree immediately, checks his ammunition count, and takes the safety off his gun. Behind him, the  _clang_ s of bullets against vibranium get louder. At least one HYDRA agent screams.

Sam forces two deep breaths into his lungs, then ducks out from behind the tree and starts firing. His aim isn’t exactly what it used to be, but he nails at least three agents in the shoulder or the stomach - not fatal, he'll have to deal with that later, but enough to distract them enough to drop their guns, and that’s really all he’s going for right now. He ducks behind another tree, ejects his gun’s clip, and digs another one out of his pocket, and he’s halfway through reloading when he hears Steve shout.

“Steve?” Sam calls. The gunfire is tapering off now, just a few shooters left, and Sam can see them all as he peers around the tree. The sound of bullets against shield intensifies. Steve doesn’t answer. Sam’s entire body feels like ice and adrenaline.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, and then leans around the second tree and shoots a HYDRA agent just before they fire a bullet into Steve. Steve is lying on the ground, curled behind the shield as much as he can, a fallen HYDRA agent’s rifle in his hand, but the other two are clearly gaining ground on him. They’re so focused on Steve and traversing the corpses of their fellow agents that they don’t notice Sam until he puts two bullets apiece in their heads.

Sam waits a couple of beats to make sure no more agents come out of the woodwork, then holsters his gun and takes off running down the hill to Steve.

Steve doesn’t look to be in terribly good shape. His face is pale (but not white, Sam notes with relief), and his breathing is shallow and he seems like he’s in serious pain, but he looks relieved when Sam drops down next to him and starts going through his pack.

“Sam.”

“Yeah, it’s me, here to save your ass again.” Sam pulls the white plastic case out of his bag and pops it open. “Told you carrying a med kit was a good idea.”

“You’re full of good ideas,” Steve breathes. He shifts a little and hisses through his teeth. “Shit.”

“What’s your damage?”

“GSW to the abdomen.” Steve shoves the shield over from where it had been crammed into the dirt and pulls up the left side of his shirt. Sure enough, there’s a large gash straight across his side. It looks like a graze, but a particularly nasty one, and certainly one that will need stitches.

“God dammit. Okay, here.” Sam pulls a bottle of water out of the pack and hands it to Steve. “Rinse.”

Steve obediently cracks the cap open and slowly pours water over the wound. He bites back a curse and digs one heel into the dirt, but doesn’t let up. The water runs dark pink into the earth.

Sam digs a couple of gauze pads out of the med kit and sets the box to the side. “I’m gonna apply pressure, okay?”

“‘Kay.” Steve sets the water bottle aside and Sam kneels down at his side. He wipes away some spare water drops with his sleeve, then presses the gauze over the wound. Steve nearly doubles over and grinds his teeth. “ _Shit_.”

“It’s okay, I got you. You’re gonna be fine,” Sam says firmly. “I just gotta put pressure on it to stop the bleeding.”

“I know, I know, I know…”

“Hey. Look at me.” Sam turns Steve’s face toward him with one hand. “I got you.”

Steve’s eyes are dark with pain and his jaw is clenched tight, but he nods.

Sam swaps out the bloodied gauze for fresh pads and presses down with the heel of his hand. Steve squirms under him.

“Stop moving. That’ll just make it worse.”

“‘m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Here, grab my hand. Squeeze when it hurts too much.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. Cut the machismo. You just got shot. Hold my damn hand.”

Steve still looks doubtful, so Sam just grabs his hand instead.

“When it hurts, squeeze.”

“Okay.”

Sam removes the gauze and pours a little bit of water over the gash. The pink is paler now. That’s a good sign. He tears open a pack of latex gloves with his teeth and uses the thumb of the hand Steve’s holding onto to pull it onto his hand. A couple of butterfly bandages fall out into the dirt as Sam rummages around for the tube of antiseptic, and then the antiseptic cap itself gets lost in the little tufts of grass, but Sam doesn’t really care. He wipes away water and blood together and slathers antiseptic gel over the gash. Steve’s grip on his hand tightens immediately, to the point of pain, but Sam ignores it. It’s not the first time he’s had to clean up someone in the dirt.

The wound is still bleeding sluggishly through the thick gel, but not as much as it should be. It’s really only thanks to Steve’s accelerated healing that Sam doesn’t have to do stitches right here in the middle of the forest. Not that he couldn’t. But he really doesn’t want to.

He grabs another pad and presses over the mess of torn up skin and reddened antiseptic. Steve whines in the back of his throat and Sam squeezes his hand back to take some of the pressure off of his own fingers. “You’re doin’ good, Steve. It’s already slowing down. You’re gonna be fine.”

“I’m always fine,” Steve says quietly.

“Damn straight you are. Drink some of the water.”

Steve tilts his head back and clumsily drinks half of the bottle’s remaining contents with his left hand. A little bit spills down his cheek and lands in the dirt.

Sam keeps pressure on the pad until red starts to bleed through, the reapplies more antiseptic and tapes a thick bandage over the wound.

“This’ll hold you until we get to a hospital.”

“What?”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together. “This will hold you?”

“No, we don’t need to go to a hospital.”

Sam blinks, then rolls his eyes and drops the roll of tape he’d been holding. “Steve, for God’s sake, you just got _shot in the side_. We’re going to get you checked out and get you stitches.”

“But it’s fine.”

“For God’s sake. You and Romanoff, you’re just the same. Look, if you don’t want me to go with you, I won’t go, but you need to get your ass to an ER.”

“Don’t leave,” Steve says, too quickly.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Sam replies. “Can you stand up? Actually, on second thought, don’t. I’ll get the car as close as I can first.”

“I can do it,” Steve says, sounding slightly annoyed.

“I know you _can_ , but you _shouldn’t._  So don’t.” Sam takes Steve’s free hand and presses it over the bandage. “Keep pressing.”

He moves to stand up, but Steve’s hand is still gripping his tightly. Sam looks at his hand, and then at Steve. Steve follows his gaze and then lets go of Sam’s hand like it’s burning him.

“I’m gonna go get the car,” Sam says. “See how many trees I can drive around.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly.

“Don’t get up. I’ll be back to help you.”

“I know.”

“Okay. Good. Right.” Sam fishes the car keys out of his jacket pocket and, after a moment of hesitation, turns and starts the trudge up the hill toward the trail that led them here as fast as he can.

Steve, miraculously, follows orders and doesn’t follow him.

 

2.

“You’re too goddamned tense,” Sam says one day over dinner.

Steve, who has been sitting hunched over a bowl of udon for the last five minutes, frowns and says, “No, I’m not.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, you are. It’s all in your shoulders.”

“My shoulders are fine.” Steve straightens up and rolls his shoulders to make a point. The left one makes a loud popping noise. Steve winces.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Uh huh. Your entire body is a knot.”

Steve shrugs. “Kinda hard to push through all the muscle. Side effect of the Serum, I think. I’m always like this.”

“You never go to a massage therapist or something?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Not even on SHIELD’s dime?”

“SHIELD had their own massage therapists,” Steve explains around a bite of noodle. “But they were always busy.”

“Can’t you book them?” Sam asks.

“I guess. I just never got around to it,” Steve says. “Other people needed them more. I can carry a lot in this body.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “That’s not good for you, man. I learned some massage when I was enlisted, let me do something about those shoulders of yours.”

Steve licks his lower lip and then presses his lips together. “That’s okay, don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worrying about you, I just think it would be good for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve says.

“I know I don’t have to,” Sam replies. “But I want to.”

Steve’s eyelid twitches. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say it was a flinch.

“Alright,” Steve says eventually. He sounds cautious. “I guess.”

“Good.” Sam picks up his chopsticks again. “After dinner, then. Let me know.” He picks up a piece of shrimp and pops it into this mouth. Steve stares at him for a while, and then takes another bite of udon and doesn’t press the issue.

Steve waits until a few hours after dinner to shyly lean over and ask Sam if the massage offer is still on the table. Sam thinks about making a joke, but Steve looks so tentative already that he just nods and says, “Sure, man,” and goes to grab a towel from the bathroom cupboard.

He drapes the towel over one side of the bed and then makes Steve take his shirt off and lie on top of it. Steve flops face-first onto the bed and curls his arms around the pillow he’s been sleeping on. Sam tugs the towel underneath him so it reaches his hips.

“Man, you got a teeny little waist.”

What Sam can see of Steve’s face goes slightly pink. “That’s, uh. That’s also the Serum.”

“If you say so.” Sam digs through a drawer in his desk. “I have unscented oil and I have jojoba oil. What would you prefer?”

“I don’t mind,” Steve says. “Either way.”

“Okay, jojoba is plant-based. Smells kinda like nuts. Are you allergic to anything plant-y?”

Steve rolls his head to the side and raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah.” Sam tosses the unscented oil back in the drawer and shuts it with his knee. “You could just say ‘no’.”

Steve shrugs and turns his face back into the pillow.

Sam rolls his sleeves up and wipes his hands on the edge of the towel. “I’m gonna sit on your hips, okay? Better leverage.”

“You what?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything,” Sam says. “You’ll just get a more even massage if I can be centered around your back.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Steve replies. It’s muffled by the pillow.

“Okay, well, don’t throw me off.” Sam kneels up on the bed and settles himself over Steve’s ass. He has to admit it’s a pretty good cushion.

He rolls the bottle in between his hands for a minute, trying to generate friction to warm the oil up. Then he pops the top and drips a little into his hands and rubs them together. The oil smells nutty, just like he remembers. Sam inhales deeply and hums in satisfaction. “You wanna smell?”

Steve raises his head a little and Sam holds his hand next to the pillow. Steve breathes in, then closes his eyes and nods as he sinks back into the pillow. “Nice.”

“I know. It was a gift. First time, anyway. Once I figured out where to buy it, I got it on the regular.” Sam flexes his wrists. “This might be a little cold.”

He places his hands on Steve’s back and Steve shudders under him.

“Damn, sorry,” Sam says.

“No, it’s okay. I’m good.” Steve waves a hand. “Go for it.”

Sam blinks at the back of Steve’s head, then shrugs and runs his hands over Steve’s back, spreading the massage oil from shoulders to waist. Steve shivers under him as the air hits the oil and chills it.

Sam covers his palms and snaps the tube of oil closed one last time. He braces his knees on either side of Steve’s slim hips and slowly rubs his palms up and down the expanse of Steve’s back. Steve tenses under him, then all but melts into the bed.

Sam quickly discovers that the only way to even begin to make a dent in the knot of tension that is Steve is to pick a spot and then focus all his weight on it. Steve moans blissfully as Sam digs the heels of his hands into the muscles under his shoulderblades and stays there, rolling his palms back and forth a little, until the muscle starts to finally relax. He zig-zags across Steve’s body to keep everything even, because he’s grunting almost as loud as Steve is (though for different reasons) and if he gets tired and has to stop, he doesn’t want Steve to be unbalanced.

Things get a lot easier once Sam finally breaks through the initial resistance and gets Steve to relax. Steve is making all these short, sharp whining noises, but they’re good whining noises, Sam thinks. They get louder when he sits up to get more of the massage oil, but Sam just figures that Steve is finally realizing that having ninety years of tension stored in his back is bad for him.

Finally, after nearly an hour, Sam climbs up and off of Steve and claps him lightly on the back with both hands. “There you go, big guy. See how that feels.”

Steve lies still for a moment, and then says, into the pillow, “I don’t think I can get up.”

“What?”

“I’m going to be one with this bed forever.”

Sam laughs and ducks down to wrap Steve’s arm over his shoulders. “Nope. Captain America has shit to do. Come on, let’s see.”

Steve grumbles, but he lets Sam pull him up and steady him as he forces his body to stand. He stretches his arms over his head and several things pop, but then Steve sighs in relief and lets everything relax again.

“That’s amazing, Sam.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Sam says. “Don’t let it get that bad, yeah?”

“I won’t,” Steve promises.

Sam doesn’t believe him, but he grins at Steve anyway and wipes the extra oil from his hands on his sleep pants. Steve takes the towel from the bed and dries himself off the best he can, then decides it’s not worth it and goes to take a shower.

“Hey Sam?” he says from the doorway.

“What’s up?”

“Can you, um… Maybe do that again?” Steve asks cautiously. “You’re really good at it.”

“The massage? Yeah, sure, man. Just let me know.”

“Not like every day or anything,” Steve amends hastily. “Just sometimes, after missions and stuff.”

“Yeah, I got you. No problem.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

He disappears down the hall with the towel draped around his shoulders. Sam watches the empty doorway for a moment, then goes to wash his hands off in the kitchen sink.

 

3.

Steve hates spring.

Once Sam thinks about it for a moment, it makes sense. Steve crashed into the ocean in the spring. He woke up in the spring. Aliens attacked New York in spring. They exposed HYDRA in spring. He found out Bucky was still alive in spring.

Sam is starting to have a by-proxy grudge against spring.

Steve doesn’t seem to make the connection, though. As March creeps on into April and there are still no signs of the Winter Soldier, Steve starts staying up later, sleeping lighter, and waking up earlier. On more than one occasion, Sam has woken up at six for their run, only to find Steve already back, sweating and making coffee by the light of the refrigerator. (When he asked Steve about it, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, Steve had just shrugged and handed him a mug and Sam drowned himself in caffeine instead of pressing the issue.)

As much as Steve tries to pretend that nothing is up, Sam can hear when his nightmares start again. Steve doesn’t scream or anything so ostentatious, but he whimpers in his sleep. He breathes hard and fast, like a panic attack, and sometimes he shakes so hard that the bed frame of Sam’s guest bed squeaks. Sam can hear him through their shared wall, breaking down without even being awake.

Around the middle of April, Steve more or less shuts down inside. As far as Sam can tell, he’s always been terrible at concealing things, and now is no exception. Steve tries to make jokes sometimes, to give an air of being fine, but he looks exhausted all the time and gets startled by sudden noises and movements. Sam has to strong-arm him into bed (“I don’t need sleep,” Steve had said stubbornly. “I’m _designed_ to go without.” But Sam just pushed him into bed and threw blankets over him anyway) and keep an eye on the door to make sure Steve doesn't sneak out like an unruly teenager. He threatens Steve with bodily harm if Steve doesn’t at least try to get a full night’s sleep. Whether or not Steve tries, it doesn’t work.

It’s bad tonight. Sam’s door is closed and he has a pillow over his head, but he can still hear Steve whining as whatever terrible thing trapped in his head tortures him. The bed frame thumps against the wall.

Sam sighs.

Steve will give him hell in the morning, but he decides he doesn’t really care as he rolls out of bed and gropes around for a pair of sweatpants. He pulls them on and slips from his room to the guest room as quietly as he can. Steve is twitching, curled tight on his side, and whimpering again. His eyes are shut tight against ice or HYDRA or the Winter Soldier’s blank stare, Sam’s not going to try to guess.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches over to Steve. Steve’s eyes fly open the second Sam’s hand makes contact with his shoulder, and he scrambles away from him without really seeing. Sam quickly pulls his hand back as Steve stares at him, blinking owlishly until recognition finally flickers in his eyes.

“It’s okay, it’s just me.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah, man,” Sam says gently. “You’re okay. You were just dreaming.”

Steve blinks again and looks around himself. His face falls. “Just dreaming,” he murmurs to himself.

“Yeah. You’re okay, though. Do you want water or something?”

Steve shakes his head. “Got a bottle under the bed.” He retrieves a half-full water bottle and takes a long drink from it. The plastic crackles.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks hesitantly.

Steve laughs humorlessly and gets back under the blankets. “Go back to bed, Sam.”

“Tell me you’re good first.”

“Thanks for waking me up. I’m fine.”

Sam raises his eyebrow skeptically, but Steve’s back is to him.

“Look, man,” he starts to say. His hand finds Steve’s back and Steve shudders under him.

“Shit,” Steve whispers to himself.

“Rogers. Be honest with me here. You’re not really okay right now, are you?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t dispute Sam either.

Sam toes off his socks and swings his legs up onto the bed so he can lie next to the Steve-shaped lump in the bed. He rubs one palm over the expanse of Steve’s back and Steve, whether or not he means to, presses back into him.

“Here, roll over,” Sam says. “On your stomach.”

“It’s like three in the morning, you don’t have to give me a massage,” Steve says.

“I wasn’t gonna. I’m not awake enough for that. Just roll over, okay?”

Steve doesn’t move for a few long seconds, then shuffles over so that he’s on his stomach next to Sam. The back of his shirt is sweaty from the shaking earlier, but Sam doesn’t mind that much. He’s been there himself.

He props himself up on his side and rubs one hand up Steve’s back in long, smooth strokes. Steve sighs under him, a little involuntary thing that gets half-caught by the pillows. Sam feels the muscles in his back ripple as he tenses and relaxes.

“Breathe a bit, okay?” Sam directs. Steve takes a few steady breaths. Sam rubs his back in time, up to his shoulders on each inhale and down the length of his spine on the exhale. When he reaches Steve’s hips, Sam dips his hand under the damn cotton of Steve’s t-shirt and pushes it up and out of the way. Steve’s back feels cool and clammy without the layer of cloth over it, but Sam’s hand is warm against it. Steve hums into the pillow.

“Is this helping?” Sam asks.

“Mhmmmm. Don’t stop,” Steve mumbles into the pillow.

“Okay, I won’t,” Sam promises. “Go back to sleep if you can.”

“But that’s rude.”

Sam shakes his head even though Steve can’t see him. “It’s okay. You gotta get some sleep, or else you’re gonna go crazy. So try, okay? It’s fine if you can’t, but don’t stay up for me.”

“What about you.”

“It’s a big bed. You and Nat shared. I’ll be fine.”

“Nat’s smaller’n you,” Steve says tiredly.

“I’m surprisingly flexible,” Sam deadpans. “Now shush. Go to sleep.”

Steve makes an irritated noise, still muffled by the pillow, but his breath is pretty much evened out by now. Sam can feel the slight changes in Steve’s back as his body slowly relaxes enough for him to sleep. Personally, he likes the way Steve’s back feels – it’s nice to do something so slow and methodical as rub someone’s back. Steve’s body acclimates to the temperature and the slight sheen of sweat evaporates quickly and Steve’s skin is very smooth, now that his entire body isn’t tense.

Sam digs his fingertips into the muscles in Steve’s shoulders, just a little. Steve sighs in his sleep and relaxes underneath the pressure. Sam smiles and starts to pull his hand away, but Steve tenses up immediately. He doesn’t wake up, but clearly senses the fact that Sam isn’t touching him anymore. Sam places his hand back between Steve’s shoulder blades and the tension eases again, much faster this time.

Sam rubs Steve’s back until the room goes slightly sideways and he’s just going to close his eyes, just for a second, and then all of a sudden, the sun is up. Sam flinches from the shaft of light in his eyes and turns away from it, straight into a mess of blond hair. Steve is curled up tight against his chest, one arm wrapped firmly around Sam’s waist. Sam’s own hand is still stuck under Steve’s shirt, at a somewhat unpleasant angle. But Steve is warm and, more importantly, sound asleep, so Sam just wiggles down a little so that Steve’s shoulder blocks the glare and falls right back asleep himself.

  


4.

“No one touched you much like this, did they?” Sam asks softly. His hands run up Steve’s abdomen to his chest. One thumb flicks at a nipple on the way up to his shoulders.

Steve inhales sharply through his nose and his fingers scrabble at the blankets for a moment before pressing flat into the mattress. “No. No, not really.”

Sam bends down and nuzzles against Steve’s neck, then scrapes his teeth lightly over Steve’s collarbone. Steve barely keeps a groan from escaping. “Why’s that?”

“People… Don’t like to get close,” Steve breathes. Sam presses a kiss against the pulse point of his neck. “Intimidated or something, I don’t know, I don’t know…”

“Hey, easy.” Sam reaches up and strokes Steve’s cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay. I’m not intimidated.”

Steve smiles at the ceiling - a loose and wobbly thing, but a smile nonetheless. “No?”

“Nah. I’ve seen you downing Starbucks espresso drinks in your underwear. It’s hard to be intimidated after that.”

Steve laughs.

“No, no, I’m not intimidated,” Sam says. “I trust you. You could kick my ass six ways to Sunday, but you won’t.”

“Not unless you make me,” Steve replies wryly.

“I sure don’t plan on it.” Sam sits up again and rests his hands on Steve’s knees. “We get our asses kicked plenty.”

Steve makes an aborted whining sound and starts to raise his hands, then drops them back on the bed.

“Hey, hey,” Sam murmurs. “I’m gonna take care of you. Get you off nice and easy, okay? Nice and sweet.”

Steve hums quietly. “God, yes. Please.”

“Attaboy.” Sam hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Steve’s underwear and drags them down, off of his legs, and tosses them on the floor. Steve’s legs curl around him, holding him in place with no real force.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Steve asks. He looks a little hazy.

“No. No, I don’t think so. Not today, at least,” Sam says. “We can talk about that later, but not today.”

“Mm, okay.” Steve sounds a bit disappointed, but not too much. His heels dig into Sam’s lower back, pulling him forward. Sam ducks down and presses a light kiss to Steve’s lips, then sits up again. He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs the bottle of lube he’d brought in and squirts a good sized dollop on his hands. It’s cold to the touch, so he rubs his hands together to warm it up. Steve shivers like it’s on him already.

“Nice and slow,” Sam repeats as he takes Steve’s cock in hand and runs his thumb over the head a couple times.

Steve’s hands immediately fly up to his face to cover his mouth. Sam raises his eyebrows in surprise. Steve flushes dark across his cheeks, extending down his neck a little, but his hips jerk a little under Sam’s hand, making tiny slick sounds.

“Easy,” Sam repeats. “You can make noise, it’s okay. No one’s around to hear except me, and I think it’s pretty nice.” He squeezes a little and he feels Steve’s cock twitch under him.

Steve doesn’t take his hands away, but his shoulders relax a little. His chest is pink now too. Sam gives into temptation with very little fight and reaches down to kiss the exposed skin. Steve blushes darker, but makes a pleased sound as Sam’s beard scrapes over his skin.

Sam tucks his forehead into the crook of Steve’s neck and lets his free hand drift over Steve’s side as he strokes Steve’s cock. Steve squirms under him, head tipped back and hand fisted in the sheets.

“You’re so pretty,” Sam says, more to himself than to Steve. “I’m lucky that I get to touch you.”

“Do it more,” Steve gasps. “C’mon, Sam, touch me, please…”

“I got you, I got you,” Sam murmurs. “I’m right here.” He jerks Steve’s cock a little harder, a little faster, but just a little. Steve hisses through gritted teeth and grabs onto Sam’s shoulder with one hand and pulls him down. Sam’s chest butts against Steve’s with a quiet _thud_ and Sam grunts as his hand is twisted under his hip.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Steve chants under his breath as he cants his hips up. Sam winces and pulls his hand free. Steve doesn’t seem to care at all - his hands are gripping Sam’s biceps and scratching up his back, and he grinds his cock against the still-clothed hollow of Sam’s hip like it’s exactly what he wanted to do all along.

“Steve?”

“No, Sam, please, just…” Steve’s eyes are dark and unfocused when Sam props himself up to look at him. “Just…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam reassures him. “What do you want? You want me to kiss you?”

“Yes, yes, please…”

Sam shifts himself upward and Steve is all but lunging at him. Steve kisses like he’s going to drown if he’s not wrapped around Sam. His legs are locked around Sam’s like he’s afraid Sam will fly away; his nails are dug into Sam’s back and it hurts but Sam doesn’t really care, probably won’t for a while; their chests are pressed together, slick with Steve’s sweat and streaks of lube from Sam’s hands. It feels like Steve is trying to drown in him.

Sam tries to pull back a little to get a hand back around Steve’s cock but Steve grabs his hand immediately and puts it back on his shoulder. Sam reaches up and tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair and pulls gently. Steve arches up off the bed and breaks the kiss and hides his face against Sam’s throat like he’s embarrassed to be falling apart.

“Is this how you wanna come?” Sam asks. “Against my hip or with my hand? Whatever you want, Steve.”

Steve gives a strangled moan in reply and clings tighter to Sam.

“Okay, that’s cool. I got you.” Sam strokes Steve’s hair as Steve grinds against him. “Take what you need, I got you.”

Steve’s breath catches in his chest and his forehead smacks against Sam’s collarbone and his entire body goes very tense for a long moment. Sam feels something pulse warm and wet against his hip and Steve’s shuddering breaths against his neck, and then Steve goes very, very quiet and still.

Sam carefully peels himself off of Steve’s chest. Steve lets him go like he’s on fire. Sam reaches over and grabs a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table and wipes himself off as best he can. There’s a wet spot on his underwear but it’s not terribly unpleasant yet, and he’s hard but not really worked up. None of it’s enough to bother him.

Sam tosses the used tissues in the trash bin and turns back to see Steve rolling out of bed in the other direction as quietly as he can, his underwear balled up in one hand. “Uh, Steve?”

Steve freezes, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting to get caught, and the flush returns to his cheeks. “I, um. I was just gonna go.”

Sam raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Were you now?”

Steve flinches. “I just didn’t want to, you know… With that, and I’m sorry about it and I didn’t think you’d really want to…”

He looks genuinely distressed about it. Sam’s heart hurts.

“No, Steve, come on. Get back in bed.” He sits down on one side and pushes the blankets down. “You don’t have to leave, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve says.

“I know,” Sam replies. “Get back here.”

Steve looks at him, and then the door, and then carefully sits back down and curls up on the far edge of the bed, drawing the blankets up to his chin. Sam sighs through his nose and settles down behind him, wrapping one arm around Steve’s waist and wiggling the other one under his head so he can pull Steve back against him. Steve stiffens in surprise, but his entire body shivers as Sam’s chest presses against his back and he gradually relaxes his arms enough for Sam to hold him properly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “About… that.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sam says. “I told you to take what you needed and you did.”

“It’s just so… Inappropriate,” Steve says miserably. “I didn’t mean to use you like that. I never mean to use you for anything, Sam, I promise.”

“Oh, Steve.” Sam strokes a thumb along Steve’s sternum. “It’s not inappropriate. It’s fine. You didn’t use me. You did exactly what I wanted you to do.”

Steve huffs out a little breath and Sam can tell that he doesn’t entirely believes him, but he knows he’s never going to win the war against Steve’s guilt complex. Steve’s guilt complex has twenty-seven years and Irish Catholicism on its side, which are forces that Sam can’t begin to hope to compete with. So he just presses closer against Steve’s back and nuzzles against the side of Steve’s neck until Steve finally lets the tension in his shoulders go.

 

5.

Steve Rogers does not believe in extraction plans.

Sam has it on good authority that Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton don’t believe in extraction plans either, but they seem to do alright on their own. He’s seen then wade into hopeless fights and drag themselves out just fine.

He can’t say the same for Steve. Steve’s extraction plan usually consists of him telling Sam to catch him right before he jumps off of something tall. Sam hates it.

(Sam’s shoulders _really_ hate it.)

So Sam usually hovers somewhere in Steve’s vicinity if there are tall places involved, which is fine with the other Avengers. Sam and Steve are pretty well regarded as partners now, the way Clint and Natasha are partners, so it was decided that tactically, it was better for them to work together. Sam is fine with that, except for the fact that he’s always on Captain America rescue.

There is a lot of shouting in his comm. Sam can’t tell who it’s from so he shoots up about a hundred feet in the air to get a better view. There are a lot of buildings in this area of Manhattan so he doesn’t have much of a straight view anywhere. He sees Tony and Thor on the ground beating off minions, and the dark flash of what looks like Natasha’s new motorcycle. He doesn’t see Clint or Steve or the Hulk. (Well, he  _hears_ the Hulk, but Banner is somewhere a couple blocks away, judging by rising plumes of smoke.)

Someone swears very loudly and Sam flinches away from his comm before pressing his finger to the earpiece. “Report?”

“Sam!”

That’s Steve’s voice.

Shit.

Sam turns around just in time to see a minion kick Steve off of a building.

_Shit._

Sam dives without thinking about it. He doesn’t think about the fact that the minions have guns, or that he just made himself a very obvious target, or the fact that if something happens to his wings at this speed, he could go head-first into a building. He just thinks about the plummeting streak of blue that’s rushing down to meet the ground.

He catches Steve’s arms just a few meters before the ground. Sam shouts in pain because he’s pretty sure the ligaments in his shoulders are going to tear, but he doesn’t let go. His jets are working as hard as they can to fly them up into the air, but Steve’s momentum is just slightly too much for them. They crash into the ground faster than anyone probably should, and Sam hears something snap, but as he lies on the street, breathing hard, one arm ripped up from road rash, he identifies that he’s definitely alive.

He cracks open one eye and he sees Steve next to him, struggling to sit up. His shoulder is bloody and his uniform is ripped, but he’s definitely alive too.

Sam reaches out without thinking and grabs Steve and pulls him down in top of him. Steve makes a startled, pained noise, and tries to sit back up, but Sam holds him still in the most awkward and uncomfortable hug either of them have probably ever had.

“Sam–”

“You _fuck_. You almost _died_.”

“I seem to do that a lot,” Steve says wryly.

Sam punches his shoulder. Steve lets out a tiny whimper of pain.

“Fucking  _tell_ me when you need a catch.”

“I’m sorry. They got the jump on me.”

“What if I didn’t catch you?”

“You always catch me.”

Sam’s breath catches hard in his chest and he buries his face in Steve’s shoulder. Steve pats his shoulder awkwardly with his wrong hand. The other one is pulled tight to his chest.

“Steve. Your arm?”

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “Casualty of war.”

“Shit.”

“It’s okay. I’ll make do.”

“Cap!” Sam hears Steve’s comm crackle to life with Natasha’s urgent voice. He thinks his is dead. “Wilson, Rogers, report!”

“I’m fine,” Sam says loudly, so Steve’s comm can pick him up. “Cap’s down.”

“I’m not down!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam says. His whole body is shaking. “Just shut up. Just… don’t.”

And Steve, for once in his life, does not.

“Widow, Rogers is down. Broken arm, at least two major lacerations. He won’t bleed out, probably, but the break’ll start healing bad if he doesn’t get it looked at ASAP and I don't have anything for a splint.”

“Copy that,” Tony cuts in. “I’ll send someone. Cap, maintain your position.”

“Don’t think I got much choice in that,” Steve says drily.

Sam shrugs one shoulder and lets his head thump against the ground. Steve doesn’t move off him until a helicopter touches down next to him and two men - doctors, probably, Sam doesn’t bother to look - help Steve up and through the door. Sam watches the helicopter take back off into the sky, then gets up and brushes the dirt and dust off of himself and, despite the fact that his shoulders are screaming in pain and his entire body feels like a bruise, he heads back into the fray. It feels like his wings are missing again.

 

+1.

“Hey Sam?”

“What’s up?”

“Are you doing anything?”

Sam bookmarks the page in his book and sets it to the side. “No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Steve shuffles over to the couch and sits down next to Sam. He presses into Sam’s side and Sam drapes an arm over his shoulders. Steve’s hair tickles his cheek a little.

“Do you have anywhere to be?” Steve asks.

“No… Why?”

“Told you, I’m just wondering.” Steve rests over Sam’s chest. Sam can feel the heat of his skin through the thin cotton. Steve flicks at one of Sam’s buttons with a fingernail.

“Y’know, I’m not entirely sure I believe you.”

Steve presses tighter against Sam’s side and pops the top two buttons on Sam’s shirt. “I can’t possibly begin to imagine why.”

“Uh huh.”

Steve smirks into Sam’s neck as he pops each button, then pushes the halves of Sam’s shirt to the side. He sits up and, in one smooth motion, slides onto Sam’s lap and starts pushing his shirt down his shoulders. Sam leans forward a little so that Steve can push it down, then leans up to try to catch Steve in a kiss.

Steve pulls back a little, just out of reach, a little smile on his face. “I got this. Just let me, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What’s that you always say? I know I don’t, but I want to.”

Sam smiles gently. “Fair, alright. You got a plan?”

“I always have a plan,” Steve says.

“That’s bullshit.”

“You know, it is a little.”

Sam is spared a counter by Steve’s lips on his. Steve’s hands are on his chest, on his bare shoulders, fingertips digging in like he’s trying to hold on. Sam reaches up and catches Steve’s face to deepen the kiss, but Steve takes his hands and places them at his sides without breaking away.

He kisses Sam until he’s breathless, then nudges Sam’s head to the side to get at his neck. Steve is good at kissing regularly, but he’s _very_ good at kissing necks. Sam likes it when Steve gets a little rougher and Steve knows it, so Sam shivers and whines as Steve sucks at that one point under his jaw and scrapes his teeth over the hollow of his throat and drags blunt fingernails down the back of his neck. Steve trades holding Sam’s hand down for roaming over Sam’s chest again, occasionally tweaking a nipple and making Sam gasp into his mouth.

Sam can feel himself getting hard against Steve’s thigh where Steve is leaning over him, but he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed, because Steve reaches down and fits his palm over the slight bulge and grinds down hard. Sam lets his head fall back against the backrest of the couch with a loud groan and reaches to undo the button of his jeans. Again, Steve smacks him away.

“Let me do it,” he insists. He pulls away and shuffles back a little to balance on Sam’s thighs as he opens the button and pulls the zipper down, then scoots back up and sits squarely on Sam’s cock. Even though four layers of fabric, he can feel how warm Sam is already. Steve rocks his hips experimentally and Sam makes an aborted grab for his shoulders before letting his arms fall back against the couch. Steve smiles and says, “Good,” and then ducks down to lick at the edge of an emerging bruise.

He keeps his hips moving in short little rolls, grinding his ass down over Sam’s cock until he thinks the open teeth of the zipper must be painful. Sam is thrusting up in tiny jerks, like he can’t help it, and he’s clinging to the couch cushions like he’ll make another grab for Steve if she doesn’t. His face is caught somewhere between pleasure and a little discomfort and - possibly - some frustration, but he looks beautiful all the same. Steve straightens up and pulls Sam’s face toward him so he can kiss him one more time, long and sloppy and completely without finesse, then slips off of Sam’s lap entirely and settles down between his knees on the floor.

Sam blinks down at him, slightly dazed, and licks his lower lip where Steve had bitten a little too hard. “Oh, okay.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Fuck, yes.”

“Good.” Steve hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Sam’s jeans and boxers and Sam lifts his hips up just enough that Steve can pull them down to his thighs. Sam’s cock springs free almost comically and slaps gently against his bare stomach. Steve bites his lip where he’d bitten Sam’s and strokes Sam’s sharp hipbones with his thumbs.

He doesn’t get right to it, though. That’s probably what Sam’s expecting, and Steve fully intends to follow through, but first, he allows himself the small pleasure of resting his forehead against Sam’s sternum, pressing kisses along the faint line of Sam’s stomach, dipping his tongue into Sam’s navel even though he knows Sam’s a little ticklish. He pins Sam’s hips to the couch with both hands as he sucks one nipple into his mouth and doesn’t chastise when Sam struggles against his grip. He knows that Sam is enjoying himself, if his little huffs of breath and steadily increasing moans are anything to go by.

“If I let go of your hands,” Steve murmurs into Sam’s chest. “Will you not move them?”

“No?” Sam tries. “I mean, no promises. Are you gonna stop if I do?”

Steve smiles sheepishly. “Probably not.”

“Then definitely no promises.” Sam shakes one of Steve’s hands free and runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I’ll try, though.”

Steve nods and gives Sam’s chest a parting kiss, then nudges Sam’s legs a little further apart with his shoulder and finally wraps one hand around Sam’s cock. Sam sighs above him, contented and a little bit relieved. Steve ducks his head next to Sam’s knee and spits into his other hand as discreetly as he can, then starts stroking Sam off as slowly as he can. Sam looks blissed out above him, at odds with the way his body is twitching, but his hands are still by his sides so Steve stays true to his word and doesn’t stop. He works Sam’s cock over until a bead of precome starts slipping down from the slit, and then he ducks down and takes just the head into his mouth.

Sam yells. Just a little bit.

Steve looks up to see Sam watching him. Sam raises his eyebrows in his typical _are you sure_ gesture.

Steve nods a little.

Sam’s eyelids flutter closed and his head falls back again.

Steve doesn’t have a lot of experience at sucking dick, isn’t going to pretend like he really knows what he’s doing, but Sam’s moans get louder the deeper he takes his cock in his mouth, so he figures he’s doing something right. At some point, Sam abandons the finer points of self control and winds his fingers through Steve’s hair. He doesn’t push Steve down, and he doesn’t pull Steve up, but the gentle bite of a tight grip is nice. Steve pulls against it a little, just for himself. It stings, in a quiet way. He remembers Sam pulling once before. He thinks of asking Sam to do it more sometime.

Steve takes a breath through his nose and swallows Sam’s cock down as far as he can. He can’t get the whole thing - _maybe with practice_ , a quiet voice in his head says - but Sam doesn’t seem to care. A dam breaks somewhere in his head and suddenly he’s mumbling out curses and praises together, words that Steve can only hear about half of.

“Fuck, Steve, God, you’re good. Fuck, just like that, baby. You got this. You’re doing so good.”

Steve shivers a little at the praise. He sucks a little harder, drags the flat of his tongue up, and flicks the tip along the head of Sam’s cock. Sam twitches again and lets out a ragged breath. “Come here.”

He drags Steve up by his shirt collar and kisses him hard. Steve imagines that his mouth tastes a little bit like cock and a little bit like Sam, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. His tongue flicks at Steve’s bottom lip, and then he bites - not very hard, but it kicks Steve into action and suddenly his hands are all over Sam, around his shoulders and on his chest and digging into his back. He’s vaguely aware that Sam’s cock is pressing into his stomach, and that there’s probably a little wet spot forming. Whatever. He’ll do laundry tomorrow.

“You wanna come?” Steve breathes into Sam’s ear.

“Fuck. If you’re offering.”

“Do you wanna come in my mouth?”

Sam swears loudly and stares at the ceiling. “You can’t just _say_ shit like that.”

“I’m gonna take that as a yes, then.” Steve pries Sam’s fingers away from his shirt and sinks back down in one fluid motion. He jerks Sam’s cock a couple times, then takes half of it in his mouth in one go. Sam swears again.

He reaches up one hand and offers to to Sam, who takes it and drags it to his own chest. Steve scrapes his fingers down the ridges of Sam’s ribs and pinches a nipple again - which Sam seems to really like, he’ll have to remember that in the future. Sam’s hip are now working mostly on their own accord now, thrusting weakly into Steve’s mouth while clearly trying not to. Steve doesn’t know how to tell him that it's okay without sitting up, and Sam’s hand in his hair doesn’t feel like it’s gonna let him get that far, so he curls one hand around Sam’s hip and pulls it toward him.

“Fuck, Steve, ‘m gonna…”

Steve nods again and pulls back a little bit so that he can still breathe. Sam doesn’t push him back down, but his grip on Steve’s hair tightens painfully and his back arches a little off the couch as he comes with a quiet cry. Steve grimaces a little at the taste, but it’s fine. He’s had worse.

After a few long seconds, Sam slumps back against the couch. He lets of of his death grip on Steve’s hair and smooths it down where it’s sticking up. Steve swallows a few times to get saliva back in his mouth, then leans his head against Sam’s knee. Sam looks down at him, eyes half-lidded, and wipes away a shiny spot on Steve’s lip with his thumb.

“So what was that for?”

“Just returning a favor.”

Sam looks confused, but not like he cares very much. “Good favor, then. Get up here.”

Steve, for the first time since he moved into Sam’s house, goes easily.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those concerned who may be triggered:  
> Canon-typical violence is applicable to 1 and 5.  
> Sexual content is applicable to 4 and +1.  
> PTSD is applicable to 3.


End file.
